War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel
that made up the massive facility, over half of which were test grounds for missiles, rockets, and space vehicles. He had read that there were over two hundred miles of roads, and tens of thousands of square feet of buildings.
    Redstone Arsenal was a city unto itself.
    And somewhere in all that, Sandy Conlon had worked, perhaps on a project that had something to do with her disappearance.
    But what?
    There was only one way to find out. Though tired from all of the travel, Tucker was also jacked up by the prospect of the challenge ahead. And he suspected he wasn’t the only one.
    Kane watched him from atop the comforter, those dark eyes studying him as if anticipating what he would say next.
    He smiled at his partner, which earned him a tail thump. “How about it, Kane. Ready to go to work?”
    Kane bounded off the bed and headed to the door, his tail flagging high.
    “I’ll take that as a yes.”
    Before departing, he removed Kane’s uniform from his duffel. The K9 Storm tactical vest was mottled to match the shepherd’s black and tan fur. Not only was it waterproof, but it was also Kevlar reinforced. He checked the pinpoint night-vision camera folded next to his collar and its wireless transmitter. The equipment gave Tucker a two-way streaming visual and audio feed of the shepherd’s surroundings. He could also communicate to Kane via a small custom-fitted earpiece.
    He slipped the vest in place over Kane’s shoulders and tightened the straps, feeling the dog’s muscles trembling with suppressed excitement. After examining the vest for any rub points and testing the comm link, he did one final check. He cupped Kane’s cheeks between his hands, staring deep into his partner’s eyes.
    “Ready, buddy?”
    Kane pushed forward, touching his cold, wet nose to Tucker’s.
    “Who’s the best dog?” he whispered.
    A small lick to his chin answered him.
    “That’s right . . . you are.” Tucker straightened and turned toward the door. “Let’s go explore.”
    9:19 P . M .
    Night had fully fallen by the time Tucker’s SUV passed through the gates of a small subdivision. His headlights swept over the bronze lettering at the stone entryway.
    CHAPMAN VALLEY ESTATES
    According to Jane, Sandy lived in this neighborhood. His rental’s GPS led him through a maze of streets. The houses he passed appeared to be small mansions, none less than five thousand square feet, all on lots well over an acre. Each yard was neatly manicured, the homes set well back from the road. Through the open window, the evening smelled of lilac and freshly mowed grass.
    Sandy, whatever you were doing, it must’ve paid well .
    He slowed down as he neared his destination, then stopped when he was a hundred yards away. All of the driveways in the neighborhood were marked with identical rustic lamps, each bearing the street number. He noted the lamp at the foot of her driveway was dark.
    A faint alarm bell went off in Tucker’s head.
    Maybe something, maybe nothing . . .
    He sat for a moment, taking everything in. The warm air buzzed with mosquitoes and creaked with the calls of a thousand crickets. The road was otherwise quiet. No cars, no pedestrians, no barking dogs. Through a few neighboring windows, lights flickered from television sets or glowed from bedroom windows.
    “Looks like everyone is settling in for the night,” he whispered to Kane.
    Except for us .
    Tucker grabbed his shoulder pack and climbed out of the car with Kane. Together, they strode over toward her driveway, passing along Sandy’s front yard as if just another local walking his dog.
    Fifty yards from the street rose Sandy’s home, a modern two-story French château with gabled windows and an attached three-car garage. There was even a tall stone fountain in a front courtyard.
    Definitely paid well . . .
    As he reached the driveway, he noted that all of the windows were dark. The fountain lay quiet and still.
    With the street still empty, Tucker took ten quick

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